


High times at Camp Chitaqua

by ReturnFrom_86



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 16:29:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReturnFrom_86/pseuds/ReturnFrom_86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With backlash from the community, Dean and Cas must break off their relationship. This fic is set a month later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the same fic as in End!verse drabbles, but I've taken it further.
> 
> Teen & Up for language and heavily implied drug use, drug use may get more explicit further in the fic, depends where I feel like taking it.

The sweat glistened on his flushed skin and his breath came heavy as he relentlessly swung the axe at the tree. The people around him absorbed the power emanating from his very being and tried desperately to push themselves, encouraged by their fearless leader, but none could match his insane pace. Dean Winchester was lost, buried deep inside himself, with only the rhythmic swing of the axe rooting him to reality. The night before, Cas had gotten himself completely wasted as per normal, but last night he'd stormed topless into the meeting room and flounced up to Dean, demanding "a good fuck for old times sake". Dean had gripped tightly onto Cas's upper arm as he marched him out of the room, avoiding the eyes of community members present.  
It had been little under a month since Dean had last felt Cas's scorching skin under his fingers, since they'd been forced to quit each other or lose the partial stability of the lives they'd built for themselves. If it weren't so painful, Dean could have laughed at the absurdity of it, living in a post-apocalyptic world with death etched onto every cell of every person still alive and they still couldn't cope with their fearless and ruthless leader being in love with a fallen angel, or a guy, either way the community found it distasteful. The memory of the day his lieutenant's had told him to let Cas go still sent trembles down Dean's body as acid repulsion stewed in his stomach, that day and for many days after it, Dean was a hair's breadth away from killing them all.  
Dean swung the axe harder, concentrating solely on his muscle movement, pushing away all thoughts of Cas, but the way he'd let go of Cas's arm once they were outside in the cool, night air still tormented him. His grip on the axe handle instinctively tightened, he'd made himself let go of Cas, his fingers had tingled with lingering heat which Dean denied them. Cas's eyes were clouded by the drugs but were desperately trying to stay focused on Dean's face, Cas tilted his head to the side inviting Dean's hand to his cheek, but Dean fought to still his wandering arm. "Go home," Dean commanded, surprised at the steadiness of his voice, "but Dean-", "just go, Cas". The betrayal plain on Cas's face tore at Dean's chest, all those nights they'd spent together whispering promises into kisses and screaming them out to the dark abyss were a shared curse, twisted into their own hells. The rest of the night had been full of heavy drinking and bitter, tear drenched anger, it had been so on the night they'd officially parted romantically and on every other night he'd been reminded of what he'd lost with Cas.

A loud crack pulled Dean from his inner depths as his axe swung at air, momentum kept it moving as Dean had no choice but to follow the path of the swing. He ended up in a heap on the ground, twigs and bark cutting into his skin and sticking to the sweat, some of the crowd started to laugh but a dark, murderous look from their leader silenced them, others ran to his aid but he pushed them away with an angry grunt. Dean twisted around to push himself off the ground and grunted in pain as his ankle burned and throbbed. Biting his lip he continued to stand up, cursing his stubborn dismissal of help, once up he collected his things and limped away from his fallen tree, holding his head high, green eyes fixed staring forwards. A hand landed on his shoulder, "Sir, you need to get those wounds seen to, you've got a splinter the size of your arm sticking out your leg".  
Dean trailed his eyes downwards and sure enough a piece of tree shrapnel had stuck itself below his calf, slicing downwards as if aiming for his heel. "Don't worry Bruce, I'm going to go get myself fixed up right away, you look after things while I'm getting sorted, ok", Dean continued on his way, absently patting the man on the back, dizziness was making it hard to walk and the brightness of the sunlight seemed to be pulsating, but Dean knew he'd make it to where he wanted to go, the pressure to see him had built up too much not to, he'd always make it to Cas.

The sun had already began it's descent below the horizon as the dying rays painted the sky lush reds and oranges, but Dean kept his eyes focused on the cold, dark ground. Dean limped towards the cabin he'd known intimately only a month ago, but was now as estranged to him as the beauty of the sunset. Smoke surrounded the shack, the smokiness and smells were ingrained into the wood as Dean reached the ajar door and halted.  
The warmth from within leaked out and the slightly hazy light welcomed Dean, however he could not bring himself over the threshold. Turning around sharply away from the door he let out a pitiful yelp as he leaned heavily on his injured leg, Dean's chest clenched tight around his fervently beating heart as a noise from inside the cabin was followed by a husky voice. "What do you want Dean?" Sighing deeply from the way his body still shivered at his name falling from the lips of his ex-angel, Dean replied in a steady tone, "nothing Cas, just hurt my leg, thought you could help, stupid idea".  
He started to limp away again, keeping his head firmly forwards not once looking behind him at Cas. "Dean", again his name sent a thrill through him that he would not be able to suppress if he lived a thousand years, "you have a branch sticking out of your leg. I can help". Cas's voice was cautiously avoiding sounding tender, it sounded too clinical and it made Dean want to run far away and not have to experience the coolness behind the words. Turning slowly around to face Cas, Dean's eyes wandered everywhere but on Cas's face, an uncomfortable adjustment he'd made to his life since their parting. Cas's eyes had always been full of adoration for Dean, piercing into his very soul and not been ashamed by what he saw and never ceasing to hold the gaze of his own green eyes. The brilliant blue might have seemed cold to some, but Dean had only ever felt warmth and comfort in their stare.  
Shuffling towards the entrance of the cabin Dean kept his eyes low, blaming the water in his eyes on the intense pain in his leg and not in his chest. Cas took a step away from the injured man, keeping about a foot away as he followed behind through the door. Two days after they had ended whatever they had been, Dean had visited Cas unable to stop himself, Cas had frantically kicked syringes under the bed and desperately masked all signs of drugs from Dean's view. A sickly shame had coloured Cas's face as Dean pretended he hadn't seen, although the pained glances at Cas that Dean barely withheld only added to both their discomfort that day.  
Moving towards the bed, Dean waited for Cas to move some used syringes from one part of the bed to another to clear some space, the air was hot and thick and a still smoking spliff was balanced on the blackened remains of many others. The smaller man stared down Dean as the fearless leader finally dragged his eyes up to make contact with the icy blue ones. Cas's eyes provoked Dean, dared him to make a comment, they were begging for some form of emotion, even a rebuke, but Dean just sagged down onto the bed.

The residual fumes of the room alone numbed the pain in Dean's leg, but Cas still gave him a minimal dose of something he'd pre-prepared for himself. As Dean's mind began to calm and drift he looked down with heavy eyes at the man kneeling before him. A chord of recognition struck Dean about the position but in his dazed state he failed to grasp at the tendrils of where the dwindling memory would lead. Cas worked on Dean's leg with cool efficiency and the barest of touches, wrenching the wood from his patient's ankle with reserved sympathy but letting some disgust flicker across his face as he threw the wood onto a pile of rubbish in the corner of the room. Dean leaned back on the bed, dizzily happy at the hatred Cas had focused onto the piece of wood that had made him bleed.  
Time marched on relentless in the sweaty cocoon of the cabin and Dean's head began to pound with every beat of a second, Cas had begun moving the medical things into equally untidy but more hidden piles in his room and Dean's eyes trailed his every step. Every so often Cas would catch his eye and a smirk would break out on his face, but would be replaced with a resilient indifference quickly. Dean's face felt slack and pliable and a stupid grin was stuck on his face, if a croat ran into the room that second he'd be shooting lead into the thing with a huge, goofy smile, Dean laughed at the image and felt his leaden limbs shake with his outburst, beaming idiotically at Cas as he replied to Dean's dopey giggling with an exasperated glare. The heaviness in Dean's arms prevented him from reaching over to Cas and giving him a playful nudge, Dean stopped himself, even if he could control his limbs, no way was his relationship with Cas the playful, lively thing it had once been.  
There had been a time when Cas's lack of humorous knowledge had been endearing to Dean, freely making comic remarks to the ex-angel and waiting for the confusion to take hold as he questioned why Dean was bent double with laughter. Cas had been a quick learner and would tenderly nudge Dean's arm as he grew to understand the jokes and Dean was fascinated by his friends grasp of their own in-jokes, and the dirty jokes were a cause for excitement too. Cas had stopped moving around and stood over Dean, looking at him without seeing him, "I've done what I could, you should be able to find someone to change the bandages twice a day until it looks like it doesn't need it anymore. If there is a problem you can come back, but there shouldn't be a problem." An awkward quiet descended on them both, and even in his slightly intoxicated state the loud silence sitting heavily between them made Dean uncomfortable.  
Sweat began to glisten on Cas's face, not the glowing sheen of two bodies rolling and grinding together in their own heated bliss that Dean could still taste on his lips, but the sickly, sticky and shivering cold sweat that clings to the near dead. Cas's body had started mild tremors and his fingers were restless, he needed his fix, and although the drug use was no secret, there was still a sliver of dignity within the fallen angel that would not allow his friend to actually see him at his most shameful.   
Dean eyed the syringes and joints that littered the cabin, left out in plain sight as a provocation towards him, but then stared sadly at Cas as he stared hungrily at a syringe by Dean's hand. The ever present guilt Dean dragged after him suddenly loomed even larger, its shadow muffled Dean in darkness and drowned the dying embers of his druggy buzz as he in that instant came to realise the true depths by which Cas had fallen, it hit him like a truck and left him gasping for air, it had all been for Dean.

Wrenching himself from his internal struggle Cas kneeled down and leaned over Dean who was desperately pulling air into his lungs, gently raising a hand to stroke through Dean's hair. Dean's hair had been slightly longer back when things were easier, like running a hand through silk, but the fearless leader needed practicality and the short hair bristled and scratched against Cas's hand, but Cas continued anyway. Slowly Dean's breaths steadied and he leaned his head back into Cas's touch, his face relaxed and eyes closed with a hint of a smile ghosting on his lips. It could have been Dean from a year ago, it could have been Dean from 5 years ago, the comforting effect of Cas was Dean's own addiction, a brutal, ruthless and cruel addiction for the world he lived in now.  
Unable to deny himself any longer Dean brought his hand up to Cas's cheek, stroking gently with his thumb, the first time Dean had done that Cas had beamed at him and turned his head to kiss Dean's palm. Opening his eyes Dean looked up at the man who's face he was caressing, the hand in his hair had fallen to rest on the bed and Cas's eyes were still full of exposed hunger, but this time his piercing eyes were fixed unwavering on Dean's own. The drugged fog cleared, and even though Cas's body still shook with ferocious force he clung onto Dean with a greater ferocity, fingers gripping at the man's shirt. Cas lowered his forehead to Dean's neck, his skin cool and greasy against Dean's warm skin, and muttered repeatedly under his breath, "don't go again".

Dean lay frozen at the man's sudden outpour of emotion and agony, unable to move in case he pushed them back over the precipice from which they'd both climbed over. Eventually he gave in to the crying out of his fingers to feel Cas under them, he ran a hand tenderly up Cas's back, feeling a shiver completely unrelated to the desperate want for drugs, carding it through his hair Dean murmured in his ear, "it's ok, it's ok Cas, I'm not going anywhere", a lie he knew, lies that brought comfort were his speciality, but Cas stilled under him, tensing sightly, his muttering replaced with a sigh of disappointment and hurt. Again the guilt raged within Dean, hatred overspilling into every nerve of his body at the unfairness of it all, at the way his body burned to envelope Cas in the little love he'd managed to smuggle within him through the apocalypse and the cruel backlash they'd both received. Running his arm around Cas's waist lest he run away, Dean again whispered in his ear, "Cas, it's ok, I'm not going anywhere", Cas sobbed and struggled slightly against his arm, but Dean's strength was far greater, "Cas, I'm not going anywhere," each word was raised from the depths of Dean's leaden down soul, they soured up and every time they left his mouth they washed away another layer of lies, "I'm not going anywhere", became his hymn to reach out and sooth Cas who began sobbing along with Dean's words.  
A memory rushed to Dean's mind, when Sam had left him with a sad hug and doom laden eyes as Lucifer had finally broken down his reserve, warm hands had wound round his chest where he'd fallen onto the floor as his brother's footsteps dwindled to silence, soft lips had brushed against the back of his next and breathed words directly into his very soul, "It's ok Dean, I'm not going anywhere, it's ok". Cas had held him for hours, even when he let go to feed the man, he'd never really stopped the contact. Cas tightened his grip on the shirt beneath him and nuzzled closer to Dean's neck as tears painfully sprang from Dean's disused and abandoned tear ducts in his eyes. Cas lifted his head and brought it back down to crash his lips onto Dean's, they were a vision of desperation and longing, but they were exactly where they needed to be, clinging to each other, there for each other. As their rhythms slowed and became less desperate, Dean felt his guilt crawl away to sit and stew in the dark places where it lived in his soul, they never again would allow fate or destiny or human ignorance or hate to separate them.

The sun lazily shone dimly through the lower slats of the blinds as the two men murmured promises to each other between sighs of pleasure and hope, the light dragged with it a new day of borrowed time at the end of the world, Dean and Cas held each other, and never let go again.


	2. Chapter 2

The heated glares of their fellow campmates burned into the men in an all too familiar way. They walked through the stench of the camp with their heads held high and their calloused fingers interlocked. Dean's grip tightened and tensed as a tremor rippled from Castiel's arm through to his fingers, but the shake only lasted for a moment as Dean released an uneasy breath.  
The strained community had increased it's agitation when their fearless leader had call a meeting to make an announcement, the gossips had relished in the implications. The two men had decided, after weeks of debating, to publicly reveal their secret as keeping it quiet in the small community had been far too big a strain on their already precarious relations. Several people had sneered at Castiel who moved to stand to the side of the gathering, his skin reflected a sickly, greenish sheen in the pale afternoon light and his crumpled clothes were spotted with vomit stains. When Dean had made his brief speech they had curled their noses up and shouted, "no, not that junkie", "no way".  
Dean met Castiel's eyes over the stirring crowd, but Castiel couldn't hold the gaze for long as his eyes anxiously roamed through the people, some of them getting rowdier and bolder in their protests. Dean almost took a step down from the bench he'd claimed as a makeshift podium, his whole body longing to comfort Cas and to hold him, to whisper in his ear that he was making it through the withdrawal, he would make it through this. Instead he placed his feet on the bench more firmly, steeling himself to fight for his position and his right to love whoever the hell he wanted to.

A loud clanging sound echoed in the distance, the crowd instantly stilled their ignorant outbursts as the sound reverberated through them, it had come from outside the camp, somewhere in the ruined city. A tense chill ran through Dean's bones, the croats had been getting bolder and that sound had not come from far enough away for his liking. Beckoning the people in closer he spoke in hushed tones, people were leaning in close to hear him, suddenly desperate to hear what he had to say. Castiel closed his eyes and removed himself from the group, the glint he'd caught in Dean's eye sent a furious pulse through him which he did not want to face. It was the look of man who is desperate to throw themselves into war for their loved ones, with no grasp of the consequences.

Half-way through his staggered retreat to his cabin, Castiel caught the faint hints of a plan from whispered half sentences caught in the breeze, "at sun-up… hand-picked team… won't risk leaving him behind… probably won't risk taking him… said not to worry… yeah right… gonna kill them all". Swallowing the lump in his throat Cas continued on until arms snaked around his waist and hands rested heavily on his stomach, pulling him close to lean his back against the body behind him. Dean brushed his lips against the back of Cas's neck before resting his chin on Cas's shoulder. Castiel stood rigid, stopping himself from melting into the embrace, they stood like that for an age, both adamant of their stubbornness until Dean eventually, reluctantly, released Cas with a heavy sigh. Castiel went into their cabin without a backwards look to Dean, walking stiffly he didn't even hold the door open, Dean sighed again, rubbing tiredly at his eyes, and pitied himself for the night ahead. 

The apocalypse had blanketed their small world with loss and suffering, it did not offer immunity to the ache of death but it gave it a certain commonality, an obligatory and accepted presence in the new world. Dean had fallen easily for this outlook, from a young age death had been an ever wary constant, he was well versed in it's unique type of pain. But some nights he would stare at the fidgety man sleeping by his side and the wall he'd built over the years against the pain would crumble and death once again became a terrifying, immobilising possibility.  
As dawn would break in to their room to bathe their tangled limbs in light, Dean would start building that wall again, begrudgingly accepting death once again as part of their life.The deep intensity that the two men had been growing with each other for years had given Dean a new perspective, as had the threats at every turn, and while he was still just as emotionally constipated as he ever had been, he had grown to be honest with the things that really mattered to him. He'd never gotten the chance bare all his heart to his brother before Sammy had said yes to Lucifer, the guilt still haunted his thoughts, but he would sometimes let himself believe he was making amends when he opened his heart up to Castiel. "No more lies", Dean had seared into the skin on Castiel's stomach with his lips, Castiel had responded, "no more lies", sealing his own promise with a scorching trace of fingers down Dean's back, they'd had a lifetime of lies and now had all their nights left to make up for it.

Taking a steadying breath Dean tried to prepare a speech in his head, Castiel turned and glared as only Castiel could and fuck, Dean just opened his mouth, wound his tongue up and let it go, "I have a duty Cas, I am their leader, I have to protect them you know that. I can't just send people out and then stay holed up in here with you, you've gotta believe me if I could I would, but I can't so all I can do is promise to bring myself back to you, you know, because… yeah". Dean rubbed at the back of his head anxiously, he shuffled on his feet, waiting for Castiel's response. Cas simply stared at Dean for an agonising length of time, there was a heat in his gaze which sparked goosebumps into Dean's flesh and a flush to his cheeks, eventually Cas nodded his head and turned his face away.  
Perplexed, Dean walked towards Castiel who had started towards their bed, Dean gripped Cas by the arm and swung him round so their faces were inches apart, "is that all? A fucking nod. Man, you've got to give me more than the silent treatment", Castiel nodded again and ignored the enraged sound which escaped Dean's lips, and dragged them both to sit on the bed. His voice was calm and deep, slightly more soothing since he'd stopped the excessive drinking and drugs but it still held a husky edge from the damage inflicted, "Dean, I knew you would go out to fight, it is what you do, you are a protector and there is no way I can convince you otherwise. I understand, I am a soldier too and accept that fact". Cas rested a hand lightly on Dean's cheek and looked into his green eyes with unwavering focus, "however, you do not need to promise to bring yourself back to me, because I _will be by your side_ , and there is no way you can convince me otherwise". 

Castiel's thumb rubbed tenderly along Dean's cheek bone as Dean wrenched his eyes away from the beautiful blue oceans he'd so often allowed himself to drown in. Images raced through his mind at a dizzy pace of his friend walking into a deep lake, being obliterated by the snap of some fingers, countless encounters with croats, the images brought acrid bile to Dean's throat and he reached out a hand to Castiel's strong, supportive arm. Cas cupped Dean's chin in his hands and easily turned his resistant head in his hands so they were face to face.  
Castiel's eyes were defiantly bright, they told a story of eons of battles and an underlying, eternal toughness, but Dean was blind to their dazzling strength and could only see the lifeless, cold, dead eyes of the man he loved. "I just can't Cas, what if I can't save you". A chuckle escaped from Castiel, "Dean, you know I can protect myself, I've been on countless missions and I was an angel of the Lord you know ", a smile crept playfully on Cas's face which only made Dean frown harder and an angry outburst erupted from his lips, "how can you not take this seriously, you're still getting over all the drugs, you still get shakes for fucks sake and I still see you space out sometimes. No, can't have that on the team. I'm sorry but you'd be a liability". Cas stared dumbly at Dean who was heaving deep lungfuls of air into his lungs to calm himself, referencing his drug habits had been a slap in the face which they both felt as a chill settled between them. It was Dean's turn to raise his hand to Castiel's cheek but the man continued to stare dumbly around him. 

Sweat appeared along Castiel's brow and his skin turned a deathly pale, a stark contrast to the tanned skin Dean had memorised by touch alone. "No, fuck, Cas, no. Come back to me", Dean rubbed Castiel's arms as the beginnings of a tremor ran through his body, "I'm sorry Cas, I'm so sorry" Dean sobbed.  
Castiel's skin was sticky and cold, it made his clothes stick obscenely to the protruding bones of his ribs and hips. Castiel's eyes swivelled frantically in their sockets as his fingers clung blindly to Dean's forearms, the tremors steadily began to get more violent. Dean grimaced at the regression, for the past week Castiel had had no urges to lose himself again in the suffocating fumes, choosing to lose himself entirely in Dean instead. Castiel reached out with trembling limbs to the chest which had held his not so secret supplies, he'd emptied it completely for Dean, but he still pitifully called to it.  
The first few nights they'd spent together Dean had given in to Castiel's pathetic cries, but it had been Cas himself who told him not to give in, to fight him if need be. Dean held Castiel's life in his hands and it terrified him so much that the looming pressure of the responsibility brought tremors to his own limbs. Whines turned to growls as Cas released angry animalistic sounds, his blunt nails dug into the flesh of Dean's forearms but Dean did not let go, he was relentless in his grip on Castiel. Dean stared tenderly at the writhing man, the dark hair clinging to his damp forehead, his chapped and sore looking lips and his tired and heavy eyes, the spasms always left Castiel exhausted for the whole of the next day. 

Dean's eyes hardened with decisiveness, how could he bear to leave the man he cared so much for behind, but bear it he would, he would pile it onto the numerous burdens which already pressed heavily upon his shoulders. Castiel's breathing steadied as the shakes became less chaotic, Dean breathed into Cas's hair, his skin, his lips that he would return, "I promise, I promise", whispering the words with all his might so that when Castiel finally woke up he would feel Dean's promise on him like a presence. 

The night passed slowly and Dean barely slept, his hands kept wandering to track the contours of the body of the man slumbering beside him, his lips kept longing to taste him and he could not deny them. Castiel sighed blissfuly, drifting near wakefulness and encouraging Dean with his own burning lips, but the exhaustion was so great he would fall back into sleep. Eventually Dean, curling into Cas, gave into exhaustion too. 

The dawn light blasted into the room, rousing Dean rudely from his haven. He valiantly ignored the world for a few more moments, believing only in the man lying in his arms and smiling at the healthy bronze which had returned to his skin. The rhythmic breathing of Castiel almost lulled Dean back to sleep but the sun called harshly for Dean to face it and with a swift parting kiss to Cas's forehead Dean left, with a final glance at the peaceful man, before closing the door silently. His soldiers had everything prepared and all Dean had to do was show up, and that he did. They left the camp in silence intent on protecting it, Dean trusted Castiel to stay sober, and he trusted himself, although he fully acknowledged the foolishness, to keep his promise too.


	3. Chapter 3

The desolated city crumbled and decayed around the group of twelve, men and women whose steely eyes scanned the ruined horizon, the man at point of the group scowled and jumped at every rumour of a sound. The nervous intensity crackled between them all with an agitated energy and their leader kept one hand steady over the gun in the thigh holster strapped tightly to his leg, another tightly clutching a shot gun.  
One of the men tracked their leader with a hateful glare the whole time, the irritation grew like an itch on Dean's back until he couldn't take another step, he whirled a round and glared back at the man grinding his teeth. The glaring man's immense muscles rippled as he altered his hold on his weapon, a shot gun which looked like a pistol compared to his gigantic body. Dean sunk his voice into a low growl, "what the fuck is your problem?", the rest of the company had stalled around them and they all took a collective breath. The man's lip curled up in a sneer, "maybe I just don't want no junky's bitch giving me orders is all," his voice was carelessly above a whisper, he looked around at the people surrounding them but none caught his eye.  
He turned to look back at Dean, gripping his gun tighter, "shit, they probably wouldn't even care if I waste you right now". Dean's eyes hardened, he'd shared a beer with that man just over a month ago, and suddenly he was the larger mans prey. Dean's hand twitched on the shot gun he carried but a movement at his side caught both their attentions, a woman walked to stand between the two men, her head held high and arms outstretched, weapon pointed to the ground. She kept walking up to the larger man with a steady, slow pace, Dean stared in awe at the calm, determined movements of her body and, with a painful pang, the short, black, tousled hair.  
The woman placed her palm on the bristling man's shotgun and firmly pushed it to aim at the ground, her eyes never leaving the man's furious face. In a quiet yet commanding voice she said to the man, "we are here to kill croats, not each other. Understood?" The man continued to glare at both the woman and Dean but the woman didn't flinch at all and kept a steady hand on the man's gun, eventually a crimson glow spread over the man's face as he sighed and looked down at his feet. "Understood", he mumbled. A breath of air was unanimously released as the man sheepishly held a hand out to Dean, and with a comradely wink from the woman, the hunter hesitantly shook back. They returned to their journey but the hand over his thigh holster hovered much closer to the gun than it previously had.

The sun was continuing it's lazy rise, reflecting strong rays of light on the rust and dirt of the city with a promise to burn white hot later in the day. The primary defences they'd set up weeks ago of burned out army tanks and cars were all in order and Dean gave a silent signal to continue on to the secondary defences. Dean's body thrummed with a change in the atmosphere, nearly imperceptible and would have gone unnoticed if not for years and years of trusting his gut on hunts, their leader raised a hand to signal danger but the onslaught was immediate. The croats attacked in ruthless silence, from all sides they were targeted by maddened croats clawing at the people.  
Dean had barely brought his shot gun up from pointing at the ground before vice like hands found their way to his neck, he waited for a sharp sting of broken skin and fluid contact, the pressure on his throat intensified and he struggled to twist the shotgun into a better angle. Around him the confusing sounds of battle echoed through the broken city, screams and howls pierced his ears and gunfire sent a cacophony of ringing through his head. As his vision began to blur he witnessed a croat pushing it's own slashed palm into the mouth of the big guy who had threatened Dean. The man put two bullets into it's head but not before copious amounts of blood had dripped into his mouth. A wild and panicked look entered the man's eyes as he frantically took shots at croats at a furious pace.  
His eyes caught Dean's, and through the darkening of his sight Dean saw the man take aim at him and pull the trigger. Air flooded into his lungs and he gulped it down greedily as tears streamed down his cheeks and the lifeless croat atop of him slid to the side with a gaping hole in its head. The two men each took out another three croats in quick succession before the man laid a heavy hand on Dean's shoulder.

The croats were dead and so were three of their team. The man nodded at Dean, his bloody mouth unable to utter a sound as his throat choked and his eyes flooded with apologies. Dean gave a curt nod back, his own throat clenching tight, he watched as the man took five steps away from the remaining group, put a gun to his head, and pull the trigger. An acrid taste of bile rose in Dean's mouth but he swallowed it down with a resolute clench of his jaw, "Come on, we gotta check the next defences". "But Sir", a man from the group said quietly, motioning toward the exhausted team. Dean hitched up his shot gun and scowled at his team, "we've still got work to do, now get going", and he marched on as the echoes of the gunshot decayed to a thick silence around them.

  


A sharp brightness assaulted Castiel's weary eyes, he wriggled further under the covers to hide himself from the harsh light. He cautiously reached a hand out to the other side of the bed and it was met with air. There was no solid mass of warmth, no strong anchoring weight, no _Dean_. Castiel sprang out of bed, ignoring the blinding pain from the sun light, he stared at the empty bed with ferocious intensity and ragged breaths, willing it not to be so bare of life.  
His body throbbed from the exertion of the night before, but it was a dull ache compared to the wrenching suffering he felt twisting deep in his chest, sharp and stinging with betrayal. Silently Castiel crawled back under the covers, suffocating himself as he lay completely cocooned. Long hours dragged by until Chuck eventually found Castiel sobbing silently into Dean's pillow with his whole body curled in on itself in the middle of the bed, the covers discarded to the floor. Cas was deaf to all Chuck's words of encouragement and he curled himself even tighter into a ball, shamefacedly hiding his puffy eyes which were red raw with tears. For two days Castiel writhed in his own despair as his body grew weaker and weaker and his mind fell into depths which Castiel thought he had finally freed himself from, but fall he did as the demons of his past dragged him down without Dean to keep him afloat. 

The selfishness of his actions was not lost on Castiel but he pitied himself too much to care. Eventually on the third day since Dean's departure Castiel felt a deep rumble in his gut which echoed above the constant throbbing in his chest, it was a rumble that had once brought fear to him when he had newly fallen, Castiel was hungry. He had been hungry for the past couple of days but this latest rumble had awoken something within his mind which had been drowned out by the assault of self-pity which had engulfed Castiel, it was a well ingrained sense to fight for his life, to live.  
Castiel lifted himself from the bed with shaking arms and trembled as he made his way slowly to the drawer of food and water Dean and him had stashed from the meagre rations, he took a few tentative sips from the warm, bottled water but as the liquid soothed his parched mouth he couldn't stop himself from guzzling the water up and finishing two bottles in seconds. Taking a cereal bar Castiel began nibbling at it, the bed had been his prison for far too long so he sat on the floor, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead.  
Dean, the name Castiel had screamed out to all of heaven the first time he had touched the righteous man's soul and saved him from damnation, Dean, the name he had continued to scream out to the heavens in exhausted, euphoric sighs and gasps as they lost themselves in each other, Dean, the sweetness which ghosted across Castiel's lips and tongue, Dean, who's loyalty knew no bounds, Dean, who Castiel needed, Dean, who was gone, Dean, Dean. Sobs shook through Castiel's body but he gripped onto the cereal bar and ground it between his fingers as he battled against the rising despair again. 

A solitary tear escaped from his eye and fell lazily across Castiel's cheek, once it reached the corner of his mouth he flicked out his tongue, the tear tasted of bitterness, it tasted exactly like Dean's name tasted on Castiel's lips. The sour tinge to Dean's name conflicted Castiel's mind with burning guilt and revengeful fury clashing loudly, but his mind quickly grew sluggish and he slipped back easily into his self-pitying despair to quiet the fight in his head. He would not allow Dean the satisfaction of wasting more of his precious time wrapped up in a debilitating desire for the hunter, but a few more hours Castiel would grant him as he returned to his solitary confinement on the bed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is taking so long, I never initially intended for this to be longer than a single chapter, and here we are 4 chapters and many months later. I promise I have a story thought out now, and good news is it shouldn't take too long to get to where I want it to finish.   
> Comments as ever are appreciated. :)

Castiel's scratched and bloody fingers scraped against the rough wall as he steadied himself from swaying too much on his shaking legs. The camp would still be in sight if he turned around, mocking his pathetic attempts to reconcile with the powerful warrior of heaven he had once been, the righteous man's hero who had fallen hard and hit every sinful branch on the way down. He took a drink from the water bottle he'd stashed in his back pack, along with some food rations, a small first aid kit and a fair choice of weapons, but he had chosen to travel light. Castiel continued his search for Dean with the dogged determination of a train wreck, the only thing stopping his momentum was his own fragility of body.

"Brother, why torment yourself so. Surely you know that the Winchester is dead. Surely you of all people would feel it in your very bones." The serene face of Sam Winchester appeared in Castiel's line of sight and the white suit he wore dazzled and blinded Castiel for some moments. Castiel started walking again, hitching his back pack up higher and keeping his shoulders hunched, he strode past Lucifer with his jaw set firmly in a grimace.  
Doubts clawed at his mind, scratching away at the wall of his resolve, his bones did nothing but ache and any signs that Dean were alive were drowned out by their pain. However deep down in the dead and empty furnace within, where his grace had once burned hot and bright and where his soul would have happily resided had he been created a human, there was a spark. A tiny pinprick of light, like a grain of dust from a crushed diamond against cold, hard nothing, that was everything to Castiel. Dean lived, and Castiel would make sure he'd be with him again, even if it was just to die by his side.

Lucifer strode easily by Castiel's side as if enjoying the view of a walk in the park, and not daintily avoiding a pile of rubble and ash. "You do not believe I am real Castiel, and I do not blame you for that, your mind has been clouded for years I can see that, this _human_ ," the word fell uncomfortably from Lucifer's lips like the very taste of it was an insult, "this _man_ of yours has led you astray. I can see right through you Castiel and you _will not see your love alive_. And I am, truly, very sorry for that." Castiel closed his eyes wearily but did not stop his walk, he began to hum tunelessly, or perhaps it was an old song that Dean used to sing under his breath into Castiel's hair, he clung to the sounds, trying to drown out the dangerous presence of his unwelcome companion.

"You are fascinating Castiel, your love for this _human_ astounds me, it truly does. I can't wait to see your reaction when you see his lifeless body, to see how you react, what you will do. But you still have quite a far way to go, plenty time to chat, get to know each other better." Lucifer sulked down petulantly at Castiel who closed in on himself even more and tried humming louder but he had completely lost his rhythm and his humming was beginning to verge onto a panicked tone.  
Castiel attempted to motivate his muscles into picking up the pace, hoping to out walk the devil in his mind. Lucifer childishly stomped his foot on the ground and abused the features of Sam Winchester by mangling them into a corrupt parody of the Winchester's bitch face, "don't ware yourself out Castiel. I wouldn't want to lose you before I've had my fun, I'm sure even that _human_ you fell for would appreciate you burning his corpse. Oh, unless he's one of them."

The anger was burst forth through Castiel, hot and frothing, "DEAN. HIS NAME IS DEAN", he shouted furiously, turning his fist into iron which he sent hurtling heedlessly towards the face of Sam Winchester. Lucifer did not move a single inch, his cheek did not even ripple as Castiel's hand made solid contact and every bone within shattered to splinters. Lucifer tutted down to Castiel who had sunk to his knees, gasping for breath at the pain throbbing from his broken hand, "you're… you're real", he gasped.  
"Yes Castiel, I'm afraid I am all too real."

 

The remnants of his team followed him blindly because his very demeanour commanded respect from all of those around, but they did not follow quietly as they voiced their doubts at every opportunity which presented itself. Dean himself began to question his own motivations as his mind grew foggy on any plans he tried desperately to form for their return to camp. The desire to prove himself as an able leader pushed him ever on, but the the losses along the way to the hoard of croats were heavy chains dragging him down with every laboured step. 

A shell of a building provided them with a fragile partition between the haggard group and shuffling croats in the square outside the building. Dean, who had rallied his mind for immediate attack, had for once been outvoted. Not a single person stood by his urge to storm into battle against the twenty or so monsters, the woman who had stood up to Dean’s defense before the last fight cut him down with a loaded gaze. Dean used the adrenaline he’d been building to hide any signs of sulking. 

So they had chosen to wait out the night and recuperate in silence, with only their own thoughts to keep them company. Dean did not trust himself to sleep in case he called out from a nightmare, although the endless nightmares playing behind his wakened eyes were just as terrifying. He quietly shifted his back into a slightly less uncomfortable position against the cold wall and stared up, through the gaping holes above him, all the way through to the glistening stars shining down. Their lights seemed so cold and distant, and he found them more pretentious than beautiful. 

Cas had stared up at the stars with a stern intensity etched into his features, “what’s got your feathers in a ruffle?” Dean had asked, whimsically smiling at his own stupid joke, but he had moved his head onto it’s side to face Cas and make sure his joke hadn’t hit too close to home. The intensity smoothed into thoughtfulness as Cas turned his whole body onto its side and faced Dean, lying on his back in the new, soft grass, “nothing Dean, I just feel like the stars are mocking me.” 

Dean let out a quiet chuckle, “and how would they be doing that? Are they twinkling down morse code at you? Or is your eye sight still good enough for you to see them sticking their middle fingers up at you?” Dean pushed himself up onto an elbow and raised his middle finger to the dark and distant heavens, “fuck you stars, leave my Cas alone. Is that better?” He turned a goofy grin to Castiel who rolled his eyes in the weak moonlight “No. But I thank you for the effort. They still mock me because I used to be able to fly higher than them. I used to be able to gaze down at the very stars themselves, they all used to be below my feet. But now I’m grounded, stuck here. Though they may not be flying any higher, they don’t have the end of the world to deal with”.  
Dean turned onto his side, face inches away from Castiel’s, “is there nothing good about being grounded down here?” Castiel smiled into Dean’s mouth as he took the bait and gave him a quick kiss, “the stars are only jealous of me because they don’t have their own Dean Winchester.” The kiss lengthened and deepened until Dean eventually pulled away and said, “aren’t the stars we can see already dead anyway?” Cas rolled his eyes again, “I was being poetic Dean.” 

The memory brought the shyest ghost of a smile to Dean’s chapped lips and he allowed himself the luxury of breathing out a single, hushed “Cas...”


	5. Chapter 5

The usual bone-deep weariness of an uncomfortable night spent in uncomfortable wakefulness creaked through Dean's body. As he wandered around the make shift camp, quietly rousing his comrades from their envious slumbers, a hand clasped his upper arm in an iron fist. The abrupt intimacy of the touch and the positioning of it almost brought Dean to his knees but he breathed deeply and turned his dark eyes to the brown eyes of the woman holding onto him, the hope of finding blue eyes long suppressed. Her words wouldn't have blown out a candle as she muttered softly into Dean's ear, "I do not intend dying for you but if we go back without you, hell I don't even want to think about what would happen to that poor man of yours, or the camp. But I do not intend on dying period. We go kill these sons of bitches then we go home, like a regular raid. Next time, don't drag a team out on your suicide mission."

The words stung Dean to the core, the burn of shame at his rash and heedless actions only a few days ago festered in the pit of his stomach. Dean steeled his eyes with practiced ease and nodded curtly to the woman, with an even quieter whisper than the woman's he said, "The only things dying today are those croats out there. You have my word."

Their leader grasped each person's shoulder as he made his rounds to check on them, silently communicating his support. They all returned the gesture, with varying levels of sincerity. Shadows began their cowardly run for cover as the sun rose in earnest and the hunting party made their way silently down to their aimlessly shuffling prey in the street below.

Dean's team attacked the croats with a relentless hail of bullets and war cries. The sudden burst of sound and violence excited the croats into playing out their base instincts of fighting without thought. The croats all acted to the group's plan as they ran heedlessly into the paths of shotguns, or into the swinging arc of a blade. There was absolute mayhem and Dean revelled in the chaotic destruction as he took down any croat who dared approach. Around him the victory cries of his team reverberated in the open space, but were punctured every so often by painful exclamations or screams abruptly being silenced.

A lithe croat ambled into Dean's line of site, the unsteady gait and unkempt black hair shocked him for a second. The crazed brown eyes of the croat snapped Dean back into focus as he tried to still his pumping heart.

"Look out!" A woman cried by Dean's side, but Dean's mind still swam with the after-thoughts of Cas that he was too slow to react as a large and very dead croat fell heavily onto him. A blistering heat scorched it's way through his left calf and blossomed into tiny furnaces in the muscle as the bone shattered beneath the weight. The pain was so strong it resonated through out his whole body, sending agonising echoes to the very tips of his tear drenched lashes. He kept a strong grip on his blade, even though his hand trembled and his mind was nothing but a burning, bright light of torture. Timidly he tried to shift the dead croat off of him, but a new wave of pain brought on a wave of darkness and he hastily stopped. He frantically roamed his eyes around, his team kept their eyes on him but they were all too occupied with croats of their own. Dean's eyes inevitably fell onto the dark, messy hair, the brown eyes which he wished with every breath he had left were as blue as the heavens, and the bloody, smirking lips which were nothing like the lips he knew so well, nothing like the lips he'd lost himself to so many times before. His chest clenched and spasmed at the thought of those lips and the man they belonged to, and his heart battled with the pain emanating from his broken leg for dominance.

The croat with the tousled hair ripped at the skin and tendons in it's own arm, it's eyes never leaving Dean's own. The man cried out in pain and fear as he desperately tried to move his body again, but his useless leg wouldn't be moved. The croat charged towards him.

 

The fear struck Castiel like a lightning bolt, dazzling him with the extent of the evil contained in the body which stood morosely beside him. The empty space above his shoulder blades grew more demanding against his mind as a cold wind of pure power blew over his whole body from the all powerful being. His hand twitched and the pain ceased immediately, his hand was healed, a simple gesture for even the lowliest angel, but Lucifer had done it with an ostentatious and gratuitous flaunting of power. In that moment, Castiel struggled to believe if even God himself could stand against such a creation. "Still your mind brother, has humanity filled you with nothing but blasphemous slanders and debauched urges? I love our Father, never forget." The sincerity which commanded Lucifer's voice brought a shiver to Castiel's cold skin.

Castiel stood up warily, keeping his eyes away from the devil's face, choosing to look upon the painfully dazzling white suit than the pitying look upon Sam's face. "You may really be standing before me, but Dean is not dead", the whimper in his voice betrayed his fears as he lowered his eyes to the ground. Lucifer set a hand on Castiel's shoulder in a twisted imitation of support, a biting cold seeped deep into the man from the touch, "not yet brother."

The well trodden path the rangers took showed slight signs of disturbance, Castiel was quite confident that Dean had led his team that way. They were throwing themselves into a pit of croats at the end of their destination, so he felt sure their leader wouldn't risk going via unknown routes. His speculations grew concrete with the discovery of the group's first fight. The metallic tang of old blood made Castiel physically gag and stop in his tracks. Lucifer seemed unperturbed by the sudden morbid scene, his face almost seemed to soften at the festering corpses. Castiel stilled his stomach and again reached deep into himself for that steel-like reserve he'd once held as a soldier of heaven.  
Anxiously he searched the bodies, for once he didn't long to see the face of the man he loved, not there amongst the blood and decay, where death ruled court. While Castiel continued to look over every pale face, Lucifer stood by the body of a large man whose right side of his head was a bloody pulp, a bloody gun was gripped in his lifeless fingers. He looked down and scrunched his nose in disdain as he noticed he'd stepped into a sticky pool of blood. It left a black stain on his pristine white shoes, Lucifer sighed and gave the body a gentle kick, "even the dead ones manage to annoy me." Castiel let out a deep breath and stood up from the last body he'd been crouching beside, looking determinedly to where the path continued. Lucifer walked to stand by Castiel's side, stepping heavily on the dead man's chest as he did so, Castiel said, "you should have more respect for the dead." The Winchester's face contorted in a loud snort which was a remarkably human gesture, "Why? They show me none. I'd rather save my respect for the living." Lucifer gave Castiel a pointed look, his eyes transfixing the brilliant blue of the ex-angel's, Castiel broke out of the burning gaze with a shudder.

"So no precious _Dean_ amongst this droll lot? Pity, I'd loved to have witnessed that." Lucifer tilted Sam's head to look thoughtfully down at Castiel as if he were conducting an experiment on the man. Castiel simply turned away from him and tried to stem the slight tremors which had started in his hands, taking a deep breath he willed his tired and needy body onwards.

He walked through the night, taking comfort in the wild speculations that somehow he was catching up with Dean. He got it into his mind that stopping for water used up too much precious time and therefore he walked on relentlessly stopping for no one, not even the devil himself.  
"I'm tired Cassie and I'm bored. You're not very fun."  
Cas put one aching foot in front of the other, ears perking at some distant sounds carried by the wind which could be everything or nothing. Lucifer was muttering under his breath about the vulgarity of the human condition and that Castiel was too blinded and careless to see past Dean Winchester's charming grin.  
"That boy is broken Cassie, you can see that can't you. He's falling apart and practically leaking insanity, do you know what they still whisper about him in the deepest pits of hell? It makes me shudder, it truly does."  
Castiel clenched his fists, "You're right, he is damaged, he has been abused his whole life and no one has given a fuck about it. But I do, and Sam did. I know he did. He still doesn't forgive himself for anything wrong he's done and it eats him up inside, one day there might not be anything left of himself to eat up and there's not a damn thing I can do to stop that because he's Dean Winchester, a stubborn, heedless, sappy, selflessly selfish son of a bitch and I love every single inch of him. He doesn't forgive his sins, but I do, and some days that's enough for us."

Sam's eyes were wide and his expression was one of shock, like he had just been slapped by Castiel. The man merely continued on his way, in the direction of where he thought he'd definitely heard a human shout come from.

 

The croat sent Dean's blade flying like he was batting away a fly and with no hesitation brought his bleeding wound to Dean's tightly closed mouth. The croat pressed down furiously as the blood flowed like a torrent over Dean's lips. Blood ran into Dean's nostrils and slid down the back of his throat clogging his airways, the struggle for oxygen was too strong and Dean opened his mouth to the refreshing air and the sharp taste of blood. There was a crunching sound and the croat fell to the side, it's head rolled a further two metres, from habit Dean shied away from the splash of blood but realisation struck him like a bullet to the head. The woman he'd talked with before looked down at him with sympathy, bloody machete gripped tightly in her firm hand.  
"I'd hoped to go out standing, don't think I'll even make it to my knees."  
Dean let out a pathetically half-hearted laugh, what was left of his team gathered around him and let out their own sad chuckles which faded to an uncomfortable silence.  
"I'll make it quick, Dean."  
"I know you will. Tell Cas… tell him-" words failed Dean, the entirety of words and language stretched before him in a tangled mess of sentiment and harsh reality. His head throbbed with the unfair cruelty and the pit of his stomach squirmed like a writhing snake as he drowned in all the meaningless things he'd no longer kiss into Castiel's lips or the devotions he'd no longer hear in the way Cas held his body against Dean's. The promise was just another broken thing of Dean's, lost amongst the wreckage of broken things in the man's trail. The heavy silence dragged on. _I love him_. Dean stared pleadingly up at the woman as he swallowed the lump in his throat, along with his words. The woman nodded, "I'll tell him."

"Dean?"

The apparition was more like Castiel than any croat had been and Dean smiled that the last thing he would see would be the man he loved, who had filled his life with something worth clinging on for. Even his brother had made an appearance although he still wore that ridiculous white suit, a sense of peace filled Dean, it was good to see Sammy again, although he only had eyes for Cas. The big blue eyes were brimming with hurt and were even more beautiful than Dean thought he could possibly imagine, his old friend guilt opened up inside him as he focused on turning the ghostly Castiel's sadness into happiness as he longed to see a genuine smile on the man's face for the first time in what felt like years.

"DEAN!"

The voice was almost a solid entity in it's force and the woman's hand stilled for a second. Dean was staring happily and deliriously at a leaf dancing in a small wind pocket, the woman brought down the blade hard.

 

"But I- I don't understand. Why won't they look at me." Castiel fell heavily to his knees, eyes burning as tears scorched their way silently down his cheeks. Lucifer timidly laid a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder and knelt down by his side in the dirt and gore, "I told you that you would not find him alive."  
Cas closed his eyes, shielding himself from the vision of Dean's body lying broken on the ground. "Tell me the truth. Am I dead?"  
"You never even made it out of bed. The overdose put you into a sleep from which your body never woke up."  
A darkness filled Castiel's mind, a feeling of such sombre desolation that he felt as infinitely detached from the beauty of the world as if he'd never even been an angel, as if he'd never even laid eyes on the wondrously dazzling soul of Dean Winchester. All light and hope was lost to him in a rough sea of grief and he simply let the currents take him where they willed.

"Oh don't take on so Cassie, you really do over react."  
A savage ferocity ripped through Castiel as he attempted to claw at Lucifer's face but he was held aside easily. "I am here to help you Castiel."

The man slumped against the devil, unable to comprehend anything else in his life, or death. The tears still flowed fast and heavy into the crisp suit and Castiel released a scream into the fabric. "I must say it has been a marvellous experience, watching how you've changed, how you've fallen. It has definitely relieved me from some of the everyday apocalypse tedium, but I must be getting back to it."  
"Bring him back", Cas whimpered, "please bring him back."

Lucifer seemed to consider the possibility as he stared down into Castiel's pleading eyes. "As much as I would love to see how he copes, or fails to cope, without you. Believe me I would love to see that, I am just far too busy. So I think I'll stick with my original plan."  
Lucifer pushed Castiel softly away from him and offered him the beautiful deep red rose from his suit pocket, bewildered, Castiel took the rose.  
"Don't get into too much trouble Cassie." Lucifer snapped Sam Winchester's fingers.

**Epilogue**

Warmth caressed his body and he was surrounded by the soft, golden hues of sunset. He felt calloused hands stroke gently down his cheeks and Castiel turned in the embrace to face Dean. Their lips met for a timeless age as they rejoiced in the taste and feel of each other again, hands danced over and under clothes, brushing tenderly at bare skin. Castiel dropped the rose from his hold and let it tumble, forgotten, to the ground as he brought his hands up to rest on Dean's cheeks, his thumb brushed Dean's lips.  
"Hey Cas."  
"Hello Dean."

They clasped hands tightly, and walked towards the warmth, never taking their eyes off of each other, and never letting go.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise that it has taken so long to complete this one, I hope it was worth it! Sorry if the ending startled you, that's just where the story went, I simply type it :)  
> and a huge thank you to whydouwantaname, seriously your support was amazing, you're awesome!  
> Comments as ever are appreciated! Thank you!


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